Time heals some wounds (Perspective heals the rest)
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: When Elijah Maypenny agreed to be Dan's guardian, he thought he was doing a favor for a friend. What he didn't realize was that he was essentially saving both himself and Dan. Dan & Mr. Maypenny father-son fic.


The first gift Elijah ever gave to Daniel was a box of sweaters.

He set a wooden crate of them on the kitchen chair and then called the boy over from the sink, where he'd been washing the dishes without being asked. True, Daniel might scowl quite a bunch, and he was utterly lost when it came to navigating the woods, but he worked hard and without complaint. Elijah admired that in a youth.

"C'mere a minute," Elijah said to him. "Got something that will help you out on the preserve."

The boy walked over, an unmistakable wariness on his pale face, a hardness to his ice blue eyes that looked far too old for his fourteen years.

Refusing to let himself be thrown by the boy's demeanor, Elijah indicated the crate. "I don't use these anymore. Figured you could have them. They might be a bit musty—they've been sitting in that box for quite a bit now."

He hadn't worn the sweaters in years, their size no longer suiting his aged body. But he hadn't been able to part with any of them; every item was still in good condition, rendering it wasteful to simply throw them away, and they had been handmade by his late wife, Junia. Elijah found himself unable let go of something she'd so carefully crafted especially for him. It seemed silly, he knew, and he'd never considered himself a man concerned with possessions before. But somehow he just couldn't take the final step and part with them completely.

But to give them to Daniel would be a good use for them, in Elijah's opinion. After all, Daniel was someone who needed them, and if he wanted Daniel to be useful on the preserve, the boy would have to have warm clothing. Not to mention that Daniel seemed to have so little that Elijah would be selfish not try to help him.

Daniel glanced at him with that wary expression again, as if suspecting Elijah's offer was a joke and his acceptance would be the punchline, but still pulled a sweater out of the box. Elijah recognized it immediately. It was one of the ones made by Junia, white with a dark blue eagle pattern. Junia had been so excited the day she'd found that pattern at Crimper's Department Store, Elijah recalled, his throat tightening at the memory. She'd been searching for months—it hadn't been an item they commonly stocked. She'd come back to the cabin brandishing it in victory.

Now, Daniel gently brushed his hand over the knit, and then, his eyes softening, he gave Elijah a small smile. It was the first time Elijah had seen the boy look even remotely happy, and the emotion transformed his entire face, making him look infinitely younger and kinder. Then Daniel shrugged off his leather jacket and tugged on the sweater over his threadbare shirt of which the long sleeves had been roughly hacked off just below the elbows (Elijah suspected they'd grown too short to reach his wrists any longer).

The fit of the sweater wasn't perfect; Elijah had always had been broad-shouldered where Daniel was very thin with a wiry build and lean muscles. The differences left the sweater too big for him, hanging a bit on his narrow frame. But it would do a better job of protecting him from the cold than that flimsy shirt would, and besides, Daniel seemed very pleased with it.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, meeting Elijah's eyes directly. "It's terrific." He glanced at the box. "They all are." There was an expression of deep surprise on his face, and that same wariness, too, as if it had been a very long time since anyone had offered him anything, so long that now he didn't quite trust that it was genuine.

Elijah nodded in response to the boy's gratitude, but in that moment, didn't dare speak.

Junia and he had never had children together—her death had cut that short, and Elijah had long ago resigned himself to the reality that he would never have a son or daughter to share his home with him.

But in that moment when he saw Daniel wearing the sweater Junia had so painstakingly made, something twisted in his heart at the same time as something else lifted just a tad bit.

True, he and Junia did not have any children. Yet when he laid eyes on Daniel just then, wearing the sweater that Junia had made, it was almost as if they did.

"Looks well on you," Elijah said gruffly, trying to cover for his fraying composure. "Why don't you take them all up to your room and see if they all fit?"

"You sure?" Daniel glanced back at the sink. "I haven't finished cleaning up."

"It's fine." Elijah waved him off. "Come on down when you're done, and we'll see about getting you some outdoor gear."

Daniel exited, and Elijah watched him go before taking a moment and trying to force the lump in his throat to subside. Here he was, years after Junia's death and his tears for her still hadn't run dry.

And yet, somehow, the ache in his heart at the thought of her was less than it usually was, and when Daniel returned downstairs, still wearing the sweater and reporting that all the rest fit as well, he found it vanishing almost entirely.

* * *

Elijah adjusted to the new addition to his household far more easily than he thought he would. Based on Bill's description, Elijah had steeled himself to tolerate some some foul-mouthed ne'er-do-well, a punk with an awful attitude and the morals to match, but that was a far cry from this person who actually showed up on his doorstep. Instead, Daniel turned out to be a malnourished-looking youngster who often reminded Elijah of a skittish, snappish dog that had been beaten too badly in the past to trust its new, kind owner.

True, the boy had his rough edges. He was somewhat more liberal with his profanity than Elijah would have preferred, and he also didn't seem to think much of the neighbors judging by what he had to say about the Bob-Whites, but it couldn't be denied that he gave a full effort out on the preserve. And loathe as Elijah was to admit it, he needed the help these days.

But it was more than just having an extra hand with the chores. Elijah genuinely enjoyed having Daniel there with him. Boy wasn't much of a talker, sure, but it was nice to know that Elijah had someone who he could talk to if he wanted to, that there was another person, another presence there in the cabin. And he grew accustomed to seeing Daniel curled up on the sofa with a book, wearing one those sweaters Junia had made. The boy had taken an interest in Elijah's collection of early American authors, and Elijah was happy to lend out the various volumes—he'd forgotten what a good feeling it was to share something he loved with someone.

He'd been lonely, Elijah realized. He hadn't noticed when he'd been in the cabin on his own, but sometime, somewhere along the way, his long, solitary days had started to wear on him. But having Daniel there alleviated that. And seeing him in the clothes Junia had made, appreciating them and putting them to use—he would have thought that it would be painful, but he felt oddly comforted by it instead. It was less of a reminder of Junia's death than it was a reminder of the life she'd lived here with him.

Daniel asked about Junia the very night he arrived, after stowing away his meager possessions. Elijah let him choose from whichever one of the three upstairs bedrooms that he wanted; his own bedroom was on the first floor, separated from the rest of the house by a brief, private hallway.

"I checked my room," Daniel said over dinner, without elaborating on exactly why he'd done so. "The quilt on the bed, the curtains on the window, even the mat on the dresser—they all have the same insignia."

Elijah had guessed that he would end up telling Daniel about his deceased wife sooner or later, but he hadn't expected it the very night he arrived.

"Which room did you pick?" he asked, not acknowledging Daniel's unspoken question.

"The one at the front of the house, with both of the windows," Daniel replied, watching him with interest.

The blue room, then. Each of the three upstairs bedrooms was done in a different color, one blue, one red, and one yellow. The blue room was true to its name and decorated in various shades of blue for the bedspread, curtains, and braided rug, with the hardwood floor and walls a pale pine, almost white. Junia had said it reminded the colors her of the ocean. Elijah could even remember the quilt on the bed, an intricate patch pattern of Martha Washington stars that had won Junia third place at the county fair. She'd been so pleased—Elijah could remember her holding up that yellow ribbon for the photo with the other winners in the newspaper, grinning from ear to ear.

And thinking about it, she probably also would have been pleased that someone was at last making use of her various creations.

"I'm sorry," Daniel offered when Elijah didn't answer. "It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said anything."

Surprised by how intuitive the boy was, Elijah cast him a scrutinizing glance, studying his face.

Daniel didn't flinch under his gaze, instead holding meeting it steadily. There was a shuttered type of look to his eyes, like a house battened down to await an imminent storm that it may or may not survive, but there was also genuine apology, even if he didn't know what he was apologizing for.

"S'all right," Elijah said at last. "All of us have a past to reckon with."

He didn't mention Junia. He'd never discussed her passing with another soul. He'd barely talked about her with anyone since she'd died. And a youngun like the boy didn't seem like the place to start.

But the boy was still watching him, and for whatever fool reason, Elijah was struck by the urge to confide in him—imagine, confiding in a boy with too many troubles of his own already.

And yet, here Daniel was in the clothing she'd made, walking around like a living reminder of her. One of the only reminders of Junia to still remain in view in the cabin. He'd packed away all of her things the day after her funeral, taken down all of the photos of her, and made a point of avoiding the upstairs, where, like Daniel had said, her needlework decorated every room.

Maybe it was time to put something of hers out in the cabin for himself to see every day. Or maybe it wasn't. Elijah couldn't be sure.

To distract himself and the boy from the topic at hand, Elijah pushed the plate of rolls his way.

"Eat up," he told him. "Never seen a child look as starved as you, not in all my days."

The way those clothes hung off the boy's shoulders emphasized that he was much too thin for Elijah's liking. In general, Daniel looked pale and sickly, as if he was always caught in the throes of an illness, but when it came to particulars, he was so slight that it seemed like a strong breeze would blow him away.

A boy needed to eat, and it was Elijah's duty to care for him, after all.

Thus Elijah decided to make it his mission to try to foist a second helping on him at every meal and offer him all kinds of treats—freshly baked doughnuts, venison jerky, and homemade bread with Mrs. Belden's crabapple jelly—the moment he came in the door after school.

Savvy as he was, Daniel seemed to realize what he was doing but never outwardly acknowledged it, sometimes accepting Elijah's offers and sometimes declining. And though he still didn't eat as much as Elijah would have liked, he seemed to develop a fondness for hot chocolate, usually just taking the drink and leaving behind the food.

"It reminds me of the kind my mother used to fix for me," Daniel admitted to Elijah one day, after finishing his evening patrol and gratefully settling into the place set for him at the table, his dinner and the cocoa both hot and waiting for him.

Elijah's eyebrows rose slightly. Daniel very rarely volunteered personal information about himself—beyond his vocal dislike of Honey and Trixie ("I met our boss's daughter and her little friend today. No wonder you live alone in this forest if _those_ are the kind of neighbors you have."), Elijah had learned very little about any of his opinions. It had been something of a challenge to overcome when trying to determine what foods would be best to use to tempt him into eating.

"Oh?" he asked, hoping Daniel would continue.

Daniel smiled again, only the second time Elijah had ever seen him do so. "Yeah. I mean, it's not quite like yours, but close enough. We both loved peppermint, and we'd break candy canes into little pieces and sprinkle them into the mug and then stir them around so they'd melt. My dad thought we were crazy—he didn't like any kind of minty flavor. He'd of probably been a fan of the cinnamon that you use, though."

Privately, Elijah didn't enjoy peppermint either, but that wasn't important now. While surprised that Daniel, guarded and wary as he was, had shared a personal memory with him, Elijah couldn't help but be touched by it all the same. He couldn't explain the feeling, wasn't quite sure why it meant what it did to him. But he couldn't help but feel a spark of warmth in his chest that the patience and kindness he'd shown toward the boy had been appreciated, that he trusted Elijah enough to reminisce about his parents with him. Daniel never mentioned so much as a word about any his family before, not even Bill, and when he spoke about his parents, it was the most Elijah had ever heard him say at once. It was clear that Daniel loved his parents—and he no doubt missed them.

Knowing from personal experience that words were sometimes useless when it came to the loss of a loved one, Elijah simply reached out and gave Daniel's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Or he tried to. The instant Daniel detected the motion, he stiffened and moved away before Elijah could touch him. The movement fast lightning fast, automatic in a manner that couldn't be helped, but the boy still glanced at Elijah to see what his reaction was, clearly bracing himself to be asked about it.

Though he was curious, Elijah was well aware that everyone was entitled to their histories, so he merely continued about his business as though nothing had happened, merely continuing to clear the table.

"You'd better get to eating," Elijah advised. "Can't be getting to sleep on an empty stomach."

His shoulders visibly relaxing, Daniel met his eyes with a grateful expression, and Elijah felt a surge of pride that he'd managed to earn the trust of this world-weary boy he'd somehow found himself taking in.

The next day Elijah made a decision when he was taking care of the morning patrol. When he neared Lytell's store, he halted Brownie and tied her to the hitching post before ambling inside. It didn't take long to made his selection from the small candy section, and he was at the register to pay within seconds of entering the store.

"Never thought you were a fan of candy," Henry Lytell remarked. It was a habit of his to give commentary on customer purchases.

But Elijah wasn't offended. "Never have been," he replied simply, and then went on his way.

He stopped by Aletta Vanderpoel's home before returning to his cabin; one of her fences needed minor repairs, and Elijah was happy to do it for her. As thanks, she gave him a large tin of her homemade windmill cookies.

"I thought you could use some extra," she said cheerfully. "Now that you've taken in that boy, after all."

Elijah accepted them and brought them back to the cabin. And when the sun dipped lower in the sky, signalling that Daniel was to arrive home from school soon, he set out a tin of the cookies, brewed a fresh batch of hot chocolate, and left the bundle of peppermint sticks he'd bought for Daniel at his place on the table. All of it would be waiting for the boy as soon as he returned home.

* * *

Little changes began occurring throughout the cabin the longer that Daniel remained there. Daniel's hard work showed through: the wood box was always full these days without Elijah having to make routine trips out to the log pile. The fire was going when he awoke in the morning without him needing to light it, and the coffee was usually already made.

"You sleep all right?" Elijah asked the boy on the third day in a row when he left his bedroom early in the morning to find Daniel already in the kitchen trying to make breakfast. He was beginning to wonder if something was the matter with him.

The boy shrugged, pushing up the sleeves on the black and burgundy-striped sweater he was wearing. He didn't look at Elijah when he spoke. "Some nights better than others," he said without elaborating, and there was a strange weight to his voice.

Elijah put a hand on his shoulder without thinking, only remembering Daniel's aversion to touch when it was too late.

But this time Daniel didn't pull away. He still tensed and only bore Elijah's hand for a moment before gently sliding it away, but at the end of it all, he offered Elijah a smile. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Elijah thought that might be progress.

* * *

It may have been strange to think of Daniel in connection with Junia given that the two had never even met, but Elijah found himself doing it often. He supposed that since they were the only two people he'd ever shared his home in the cabin with, it was only natural.

In terms of personality, they weren't very much alike. Junia had been very expressive, laughing often, speaking her mind plainly, making it known whenever she raised an objection or gave her endorsement. She'd lived life free of hesitation or reservation and she'd liked to live it to the fullest.

In contrast, Daniel was quiet and almost intensely cautious. He certainly could speak his mind, especially when provoked (as Trixie, Honey, and Bill had all found out), and he didn't hesitate to take a stand against anyone he thought was trying to maneuver him. Elijah could remember how fiercely Daniel had argued with that city hooligan who'd attacked him and then dragged Daniel off. But until he was pushed, Daniel remained very reserved, almost detached, his passive demeanor hiding the fire that burned within him until it rose to a blazing inferno.

He couldn't but think that Junia would have liked Daniel, though. They were both highly spirited people, brimming with determination, and could also both be stubborn as a mule. And they were both guided by a strong sense of morality, a drive to help other people at their own expense. Whenever Elijah thought of Daniel, entirely out of his element and all but helpless, on his own on a wintry night in the forest, brandishing a switchblade and standing to defend a child he didn't even know and a classmate he hadn't even liked, he couldn't help but chuckle as well as feel a surge of pride. Daniel truly was courageous and with a good heart, just like Junia had been.

Yes, he thought Junia definitely would have liked him.

* * *

The week that Bill and Daniel were in the city working on Daniel's custody was quite possibly the loneliest of Elijah's life. He hadn't realized just how accustomed he'd become to having Daniel there until he'd gone, and now he found himself missing the boy's various quirks and habits. Instead of the books he'd borrowed from Elijah appearing on various surfaces around the house, moving gradually as Daniel set them down but then placed them elsewhere between his bouts of reading, they simply remained where they laid, as if woefully waiting for their reader to return to them. There was no more gradually trying to coax conversation out of Daniel or Daniel waiting with a cup of hot tea for him when he finished his patrol, or even seeing the skeptical rise of one of his dark eyebrows whenever Elijah praised one of the Belden children.

And with the boy absent, the cabin had never seemed more isolated and empty. Elijah had never minded the quiet before, and it certainly wasn't as though Daniel had filled the silence, but suddenly, knowing that he was alone there, knowing he might remain alone there without Daniel, seemed like an unbearable prospect. The days stretched out extraordinarily long, an eon seeming to pass between each sunrise and sunset now that he no longer had anyone to share it with.

Not since Junia died had he felt like a life on his own in the cabin was more a condemnation than freedom.

And there was the chance that like Junia, Daniel might not come back.

Something low in Elijah's gut twisted unpleasantly at the idea, and he suspected he knew why. The boy was no kin of his, and yet Elijah still felt tied to him as if he were.

Dan Mangan had somehow burrowed his way into Elijah's heart, even if he'd never expected it.

Not having a phone in his home had never seemed as inconvenient as it did last week, and though his privacy and serenity had always been sacrosanct to him, Elijah would have given it all up in an instant just to have a bit of news. Not even resuming the extra work that Daniel had taken over could distract Elijah from his worries. He tried to occupy himself with slicing and stringing apples to dry, chopping enough firewood so that it wouldn't be a concern when the boy come home ( _when_ , Elijah told himself, _when_ , not _if_ ), and cleaning and polishing all the tools on his workbench, but somehow, his mind still found time to worry.

In a final effort to distract himself, he brought Spartan up to Storm King to make sure no more catamounts had crawled down from the Catskills. But the time he arrived back home, it was already dusk, and as he rode into the clearing where his cabin sat, the rays of the setting sun temporarily blinded him. But when his vision recovered, he found that warm yellow light was spilling out of the cabin's windows.

Daniel was home.

Rushing into the cabin, Elijah found the boy in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

Daniel turned to him with a smile, the expression lighting up his whole face in a way that Elijah had never seen before. "Hey, Elijah. Good to be back. Figured you wouldn't mind if I started dinner."

Elijah smiled right back at him and didn't hesitate to clap him firmly on the back and give his thin shoulder a tight squeeze. This time, he noticed, Daniel didn't flinch at all.

And it occurred to him that having Daniel in his home now just felt _right_.

* * *

More changes around the home followed as Daniel adjusted to the cabin as a permanent home. With Elijah's permission, he installed a sturdy metal hook on the wall by the pegboard to hang his backpack when he returned home from school. Then Elijah found himself working alongside Daniel to relabel the jars in the spice cabinet. The original labels had long since worn away, and now that someone else was living there with him, he needed to find a new way to stay organized rather than just sorting by his own memory.

Once Elijah had agreed to that, Daniel was always doing something new around the cabin or yard, making changes both big and small.

"You mind if I clear some brush from around that old oak tree out in front?" Daniel asked over dinner one night in early spring. "Thought it might be a good place to sit and read if I can get the weeds away."

"You're welcome to," Elijah told him, a touch surprised that the boy wanted to continue labor even in his spare time.

For the next few days, he watched Daniel's progress. At first the boy took a pair of shears and clipped away the worst of the undergrowth. When he cleared as much as he could, he dug out a rusty push mower that Elijah only vaguely remembered possessing from out from one of the sheds, and then took a day or so to oil it into working condition again. Then the boy ran it all across the grass till the ground was even, raking away any scraps.

And before Elijah knew it, Mart Belden was coming over to visit, holding a worn old blanket in one hand and a basket of his mother's baked goods in the other, so that he and Dan could stretch out on the blanket as they enjoyed their comic books together. While Elijah wouldn't attest to their taste in literature, he couldn't help but feel both comforted and a tad relieved that the boy was finding friends for himself.

Daniel's projects continued at the spring season set in to stay.

"Jane—Jane Morgan, a friend from school—says her parents are redoing their patio and throwing out all of their old furniture. Could we take some of it for the porch?" Daniel asked on his way out the door to a Bob-White club meeting.

Elijah agreed, even though he fully expected to come home one day and find a bunch of glass and chrome monstrosities looming before his home. It was worth it in the end, however, he reminded himself, if it made the boy happy.

So it was a pleasant surprise when he rode back into the yard after an evening of calling on Aletta to find Daniel and a very pretty towheaded girl each hauling a sturdy brown wicker chair to join the other couple of chairs and the matching table already on the porch.

"You said your parents are getting rid of these?" Elijah asked, marveling at the craftsmanship on the chairs and trailing his fingers over the thick cushions. Pretty decent for modern manufacturing, he couldn't help but noticed. Her parents had probably paid a pretty penny for them.

"Yep," the towheaded girl, Jane, replied, smoothing the skirt on her dress as she sat down. "They redecorate ever spring whether it's needed or not."

"Oh, well," Dan commented as her carried out a tray of lemonade for all of them. "Their rampant consumerism is our gain."

He smiled at Jane then, such a bright smile that Elijah had to bite back a grin of his own, and Jane didn't hesitate to return it. And when she began turning up at the cabin more and more often and sitting out on the wicker chairs alongside Dan just to enjoy the evening together, Elijah was very unsurprised.

The biggest change, however, was the cat Daniel brought into the home. It was a large, mangy thing, bigger than any housecat Elijah had ever seen before, with a thick coat and tipped ears that made it look not unlike a bobcat.

"I found him in the woods when I was out on patrol. He was caught in a snare, poor thing," Daniel said sympathetically, stroking the cat's head and getting a rusty purr in return. "Could we keep him? Since he's a stray, Jane's uncle—he's a vet—said he'd give him all his shots pro bono."

Elijah considered the cat for a moment, who didn't hesitate to stare back at him with its baleful yellow eyes, and then considered Daniel, who couldn't quite disguise the hope on his face.

" 'Spose it wouldn't hurt to have another cat around here to get rid of mice," Elijah answered, mostly because he knew it would make the boy's day.

Daniel broke out into a wide smile, and from that day forward, whenever Daniel curled up in the living room with a book, the cat would hop up next to him and curl up beside him.

Even though he'd always considered himself a creature of habit, Elijah found he didn't mind the changes. They just emphasized Daniel's presence, reminding him that he wasn't alone anymore. Reminding him that Daniel was a part of his life.

But which part, Elijah was growing less and less sure. Initially, he'd thought of Daniel as a charge, a responsibility, but as time went on, it began to dawn on Elijah that he thought of Daniel as less of merely a duty to his friend, but like a family member of his own. He resisted the idea—it wasn't wise to get attached to somebody he couldn't call one of his own, he knew—but it was happening whether he liked it or not.

One night, Daniel was late getting home—nearly an hour late, going by that hand-carved cherry clock on the mantel. And he'd missed dinner, which wasn't like him, even it he didn't eat much. Daniel made a point of always coming to the table whether he had an appetite or not. It was the principle of the matter, Elijah had guessed. A want to be polite even if it didn't suit his suits at the moment.

Even as he told himself he was fretting needlessly at Daniel's absence, faint dread twisted in the pit of his belly—he couldn't help but remember the trouble the boy had been in the last time Elijah hadn't been able to find him.

But he would be here, Elijah tried to reassure himself. Eventually.

Another thirty minutes passed, and just as Elijah was preparing to saddle up his own horse and go look for the boy, Daniel stumbled in through the door looking weary, bedraggled, and cold.

"There you are!" Elijah exclaimed, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice. "I was about to head out to look for you."

Daniel gave him a small smile as he hung up his jacket and gear and then limped furthered inside. "Didn't need to bother. I wasn't lost." He gestured down to the foot he was favoring. "I slipped on some ice out on the trail and twisted my ankle pretty good. I couldn't manage to swing back into the saddle with how sore it is, so I ended up just leading Spartan by the reins and walking back here."

Those damn Western boots of his—useless for any kind of outdoor work. Elijah had known he would get himself hurt if he kept wearing them around the preserve. That leather jacket he'd worn hadn't been much better, and even his Bob-White jacket wasn't suited to be his main protection against the harsh winter weather. But he was fairly certain they were the only kind of shoes Daniel owned, and those jackets were certainly the only ones Daniel owned, so he bit his tongue to avoid making a comment that might offend him.

Instead, he just pointed to the couch. "Sit down," he ordered him. "You rest. I'll bring a plate of dinner and something hot to drink. Did you already take care of Spartan?"

"Yeah, I made sure to handle everything with him before I came in here," Daniel replied, unevenly making his way to the couch.

Of course he had. Elijah snorted. The boy was more devoted to that horse than most people were to their families and would probably have put Spartan's comfort before his own even if his injury had been a rattler bite rather than a twisted ankle. He could be a fool that way.

Elijah brought over the tea he'd been keeping warm for him so he could have it the moment he got home. "Here, drink this." He handed the boy the cup and saucer. "Just a moment, and then I'll get you some food."

Daniel began to rise from the couch. "You really don't have to—"

"Daniel. Enough." Elijah firmly but gently pushed him back down onto the couch before picking up a folded blanket, crocheted by Aletta Vanderpoel and given to him last Christmas, and spreading it out, carefully tucking it around Daniel's shoulders.

The boy was under his care, he told himself, as the clawing worry slowly faded away. It was Elijah's job to look after him, simple as that.

That's what he told himself. Even then, he knew it wasn't true.

* * *

Elijah wasn't the only one to notice Daniel's insufficient gear, though. Madeleine Wheeler stopped by one day to visit Elijah and carefully raised the topic, speaking more straightforwardly about it than her daughter would but with no less kindness.

"I couldn't help but notice that Daniel seems to require more substantial supplies for his work on the game preserve," she said, and even though she spoke directly, it was respectful nonetheless. While she ought to have looked woefully out of place sitting in a worn but cozy armchair with her hair done up and dressed to the nines in fancy riding clothes, she somehow still seemed regal and composed as a queen. "Given that he is our employee and these are materials necessary for his job, Matthew and I will, of course, cover the costs. But I was wondering, Elijah, if you thought he might need anything else for daily life? With your experience, I'm sure you might have some input."

It was a discreet way of informing him that she would be buying Daniel any clothes or materials, and Elijah privately thought it was a good thing, as it hadn't occurred to either Bill or himself to do that yet. Madeleine had been the Wheeler to agree to let Bill bring Daniel to Sleepyside; her husband hadn't been home at the time, but she'd granted Bill full permission to bring his nephew to Sleepyside and set him up to work in the stables straight away. And when Bill had told her he wanted the boy with Elijah, she'd given her unequivocal approval of that, as well.

"Almost expected there to be some sort of catch," Bill had admitted to Elijah when he'd called to give him an update on the situation. "It just seemed too easy. She agreed before the words were even completely out of my mouth."

Now, Elijah simply nodded and accepted what she'd said. "That's very generous of you, Mrs. Wheeler."

"Please, call me Maddie." Her hazel eyes, so much like her daughter's, sparkled with good humor. "Anyone who makes hot chocolate this delicious gets to call me by my first name." Maddie sipped at her cocoa; she'd surprised Elijah by selecting the beverage in question when he'd offered a choice between that, tea, or coffee.

He gave her a smile. "Thank you, Maddie, then. And I think basic work clothes will be fine. Denims, flannels, and so forth. But what's most important is a good pair of boots for Daniel and a winter coat."

"Of course. And I'll be asking Daniel to assess his needs as well." Madeleine delicately set down her mug onto the rough oak coffee table. "I also wanted to ask if you would reconsider the offer from Matthew and I to run a phone line to your cabin. The setup would be simple enough, and it would be a much more convenient way of reaching you than by needing to drive or ride out here every time we needed to speak to you. However, I want to add that we understand that this is your home, and we're certainly not trying to coerce you into making the decision."

Not expecting the question, Elijah found his stubborn resistance where the modern world was concerned automatically kicking in—but then his worry for Daniel the other night flooded back to him. It could happen again, he knew. Daniel could get hurt in the woods, this time more grievously, and Elijah would have to leave him to go find help. And who knew if he would find it in time?

He might have been content to live his life cut off from the rest of the world at one point. But now he had the boy to care for.

"Yes," he said definitively, almost shocked by how little it bothered him to agree. "Yes, I'll accept that phone line of yours."

Maddie looked only momentarily surprised before composing her features again into a genteel smile. "Splendid. I'll go ahead and make the arrangements, then."

They proceeded to discuss a few more matters, but it wasn't long before Maddie had to leave. Always a gentleman, Elijah walked her back to her horse, and before she departed, she offered him a few words that caught him off-guard.

"I truly admire your decision to take in Daniel," she told him as she swung up into the saddle. "I know it's not an easy choice to come by, especially if you haven't had children before. And even as someone who was a mother already, I wasn't sure if Matthew and I would be the parents Jim needed back when we were considering adopting him. But for what it's worth, Elijah, I think you make a fantastic parent."

The words registered with Elijah, but at first he wasn't sure he'd heard them correctly, and he was uncertain of how to respond.

"Thank you much," he managed. "You take care, now."

As Maddie rode off, Daniel ambled in, waving goodbye to her before joining Elijah near the porch, that wild-looking cat trotting alongside him like a dog.

"Everything all right?" Daniel inquired, his ice blue eyes flicking over Elijah's face. "You seem . . . surprised."

"Eh." Elijah did his best to shrug off his astonishment. "Just found myself agreeing to have a phone in the cabin. Still reeling over that," he fibbed.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on inside, then. I'll make you some tea to get over the shock," he said, just a hint of playfulness in his tone.

As Elijah followed him inside to the kitchen, stepping over the cat, who kept batting at his feet, he found himself watching Daniel and considering what Maddie had said.

 _Parent._

He cared for Daniel, certainly. He was proud of him and wanted to see him happy. Sometimes he worried about him. He wanted to be sure the boy had good clothes to wear and good food to eat, that he was happy in his life here with Elijah.

And the boy . . . the boy truly did seem to be happy, for which Elijah was glad.

 _Parent._

Never would have Elijah have described himself that way, but as Daniel brought him a hot cup of his favorite tea and gave him a smile, and then sat down beside him at the table with a cup of his own, Elijah realized that there was no better word for both the role he held in Daniel's life. Parent, it dawned him, was the role he wanted to have.

* * *

Unwilling to foist the duty of supplying Daniel with clothes entirely on Maddie and Matthew Wheeler, Elijah found himself going into the attic and rummaging around to see if any more of his old gear could be of use.

However, what he found in the first box he opened wasn't gloves or scarves, but framed photos. Photos of himself and Junia.

Though Elijah's first instinct was to close the box and put it away again to spare himself the heartbreak, he found himself filled by another, stronger urge—to take out the photographs and sort through them.

The very first one on top of the pile was of himself and Junia at the county fair the day she'd won third place for her quilt. The two of them were smiling widely, Junia holding up her prize ribbon.

He'd forgotten what her smile looked like, Elijah realized, a lump growing in his throat. He'd remembered that she'd smiled almost every minute, but he'd forgotten what it had _looked_ like.

How could he have forgotten?

Taking the box of photographs, he put them in his room so he could go over them in his own time. But he took the one of them at the county fair and placed it on the mantelpiece, in full view.

Daniel noticed it almost right away after getting home from patrol that night.

"Is that you?" he asked curiously, picking up the frame. "You and . . ." he trailed off, glancing at Elijah, realization coming onto his face. "Oh, I didn't mean . . ."

"No." Eljiah walked over and gripped the boy's shoulder reassuringly, taking pride in that he no longer flinched at the touch like he once had. "It's all right. I put it here because I wanted people to see it. I . . ." he was about to justify himself but then it occurred to him that there was no need to. There was no need to explain why he wanted to remember Junia. There was no need to give excuses for wanting to cherish the memories of his late wife.

"I thought it was a nice photograph," he finished with a decisive nod.

Daniel gave him an understanding look. "It is a nice photograph," he agreed, and Elijah felt a swell of gratitude toward the boy.

"Come on over to the table," he told him. "You should get some dinner."

Daniel walked over to the kitchen and pulled back a chair; as he did, Elijah noticed that he was wearing another one of the sweaters Junia had made, this time one with varsity stripes. He was reminded then of the first night Daniel had come into his home, when he'd given him those sweaters to make sure he'd be warm.

The sweaters that Junia had first given to him. The sweaters that Daniel then wore all the time, finally bringing Elijah to realize it no longer hurt to think of her.

He'd thought once that Junia would like Daniel, and he still thought that she would. But what she would probably like best was how Daniel helped Elijah remember her.

And as Elijah sat down for dinner that night with the boy, he realized the for the first time since Junia had died, he'd managed to cobble together a family for himself again.


End file.
